Shut Up and Pull Over
by Marvelicious
Summary: In which Sam is horny, Dean gets with the program, and there is lots of hot and sweaty car-sexin'. PWP and wincest.


**Written for the ever-amazing AngelisIgniRelucent - enjoy babe! :D**

Sam hated being stuck at Bobby's. Sure, it was nice to see him every once in a while, and he was damn helpful at that… it was just that – sitting around in one place for too long did a number on him by this point. He was simply so used to traveling, to being on the road, on the move constantly, that staying at Bobby's while Dean rebuilt the Impala yet again was messing with his head, making him fidgety and agitated.

It also didn't help that while they were with Bobby, Sam couldn't blow off that extra steam the way he would if they were on the road, say – by blowing Dean instead. This was also why Sam was studiously avoiding the garage at the moment, since Dean all sweaty and covered in engine grease… Ugh. Damnit. Trying to find a case wasn't providing as good of a distraction as he'd hoped.

Sam allowed his eyelids to shut for a second – he hadn't been sleeping very well recently either – but to no avail. Bright green eyes stared back at him, sparkling deviously with a shared secret. It was exactly the look Dean gave him when they were in public, letting Sam know silently that he wanted to fuck just to mess with his head. And boy did that ever work.

He groaned, forcing his eyes back open and returning his gaze to yet another obituary page. If only he could find some way to keep Bobby busy for twenty – hell, ten – minutes while he snuck off to the garage, and, and he really had to stop that train of thought. Not thinking about it. Not thinking about him. Not thinking about Dean. Or his dick. Or sex, for that matter.

Fuck, he was thinking about it. Who was Sam even trying to kid? Damn Bobby being such an unwitting cock-blocker. It'd been almost two months now. Two months of pacing, pretending to read, cataloguing, arranging, and rearranging supplies endlessly as he waited for Dean to finish up on the Impala. Sure, it'd been totaled (again), but how long could it possibly take to fix up a car? It wasn't like it had to heal like a broken bone or anything; all Dean had to do was replace stuff. (That was incidentally the same kind of thinking that explained why Sam was not allowed to touch Dean's car. Probably.)

"You okay there Sam?" Bobby asked suddenly, poking his head into the study. Sam hadn't realized he'd been rubbing at his head like when he had a migraine, but he straightened up at Bobby's inquiry.

"Yeah, 'm good," He assured the older hunter, "just starting to go cross-eyed from staring at all of these obits." And suffering from a major case of Dean-induced blue-balls, but that was beside the point. Besides, it wasn't like he was really lying – the newspaper articles in ridiculously small print **were** starting to give him a headache.

He stood, stretching, and tilting his head in an attempt to straighten out the kink in his neck before following Bobby back into the kitchen. He felt almost like the morning after when they wound up sleeping in the Impala for a night – unpleasantly sore in all the wrong places. Unless of course part of that night had included getting freaky in the backseat; ending that train of thought now.

"Find anything yet?" Bobby asked, handing a beer back to Sam.

"Nope."

They sat in silence for a while, which somehow managed to be both companionable and awkward at the same time. Though the awkward part might have been mostly in Sam's head due to the current fantasies of Dean there. It was one thing to fuck his brother, another completely to be thinking about fucking his brother while drinking a beer with their surrogate father.

He was saved from going down that track by the man himself, kitchen door clattering open to reveal a sweaty, greasy,** sexy** looking Dean, grinning like he'd invented the cure for cancer. Sam swallowed hard. Bobby was sitting right there. "Drinkin' without me?" he teased, pretending to be offended as he went and fetched his own beer from the refrigerator. When he bent over to get it, Sam couldn't take his eyes off of Dean's tight, denim-clad ass, resorting to pinching his own thigh under the table as his dick gave an interested stir. Bobby. Right there. Incest bad. Oh, but so good… No, Sam!

"Sam!" Dean snapped his fingers right in his face and Sam startled, nearly falling out of his chair. "Geez man, I've been saying your name for like five minutes now. Care to share with the class?" Sam could feel his face heat up, collar a bit too tight all of a sudden, and knew he was blushing, but couldn't help it. Dean just grinned; Bobby rolled his eyes and muttered something that sounded suspiciously like 'Idgit'.

"I was just telling Bobby I got the car up and running again," Dean pressed on, "So I'm gonna go shower, and if you've found a case," Images of Dean naked and sudsy flashed through Sam's mind at lightning speed, so much so that he almost missed the last bit of what Dean had been saying.

"What – no," He managed, because if Dean got in the shower, then Sam would be way too tempted to join him. And then Dean would be prancing around in his towel afterwards, and Sam would definitely jump him then. "I, I already packed up all our stuff," he flat out lied, making it up as he went along, despite the fact that they literally had stuff all over Bobby's guest room, "and there's a hunt nearby – not too long of a drive, but we should head out as soon as possible. People dying and all that." He might have started rambling a bit, but whatever. The second they were out of sight of Singer Salvage Yard…

Bobby looked at him funny, raising an eyebrow. Oh right, he'd said he hadn't found anything. Whoops. Not like he was going to take it back though. He loved Dean all dirty and grimy from working on the car. In fact, there were few things sexier, and Dean knew it. Just like he'd caught on to exactly what Sam was getting at now, grinning at him and giving him those eyes again. "Right. We'd better head out then. Thanks again Bobby." Dean said easily, before turning back to Sam "I'll pull up the car; you bring down all our crap?"

"Sure Dean." He tried to sound at least slightly ticked off, but doubted he was very convincing at all. Honestly, it was taking all of his self-control not to just bend Dean over the kitchen table and ream his ass, Bobby present or not. Those damn **eyes**!

Before he got himself into trouble, Sam hurried upstairs, trying to remember how to think with his upstairs brain for a moment or two. Needless to say – it was the fastest the Winchester boys had ever had their stuff packed. (Which may or may not have involved breaking a land speed record.)

Dean was still grinning like crazy when Sam thunked downstairs with both of their duffle bags, making sure Dean's hit every step, or else he just wouldn't be doing his brotherly duty. Kind of ridiculous considering, but some things just never changed no matter how fucked up their lives got. Which reminded him… There was definitely a tactical reason behind carrying his own bag in front of him, despite how heavy it was.

"Thanks Bobby," He just barely remembered to call out as he launched himself towards the general direction of the car. Had the Impala always looked that gorgeous? "We'll give you a call later; let you know what we find." Dean just grinned even more, saying his own goodbyes much too slowly for Sam's liking.

Finally though, he too was getting into the car, shutting the door – and then Dean lost it, completely cracking up as he put the car into 'drive'. "Oh Sammy," He sighed, but Sam wasn't going to have any of that.

"Floor it," Sam instructed, and Dean laughed even harder if that was even possible, but he sped up enough that they were out if sight of Bobby's in less than a minute.

"So I'm not exactly sure what kind of impression we just made on Bobby," Dean began.

"Shut. Up." Sam had turned himself sideways on the seat, and proceeded to back up his words with a rough kiss. "God Dean," He breathed, nuzzling at the side of Dean's neck as his hands drifted lower, locating his brother's crotch like a homing device, "need you so bad right now. Gotta taste you, wanna,"

"Fuck," Dean muttered, the bulge in his jeans proving that he'd finally gotten with the program. "What have you been doing all day Sam?"

"Thinkin' about you." His fingers located the button and zipper, making quick work of both.

"Well that, ah – oh god Sam – explains it," Sam had sunk down lower, flicking his tongue over the tip of Dean's straining boxers before sucking it into his mouth and suckling Dean through the thin fabric. "There isn't a case, is there?"

For someone about to get head, Dean was being remarkably insightful. "Nope." A second later, there was a hand in his hair, pressing his head down, but Sam pulled his head back for a second to tug the underwear out of the way, hearing Dean's contented sigh when he replaced his lips. Now Dean's hand really claimed him, fingers twisting firmly into place against Sam's scalp.

"Taste so fucking good Dean," Sam breathed against the tip of his swollen cock, making it jump with his breath before flicking his tongue out to capture the drop of precum beading up there.

"S'not nice to fuckin' tease," Dean groaned, using his leverage to shove Sam's head down further, insisting that Sam get on with already. Normally that kind of impatience would have Sam laughing at him, but laughing was a bit hard to do with a mouth full of hot, juicy cock.

He swallowed Dean easily – practice had definitely made perfect in this case – humming a bit just to drive Dean crazy before pulling back again. By the sound that Dean made, it definitely worked. Dean's Hips stuttered upwards, trying to follow the wet heat of his mouth, and Sam gave him what he wanted, engulfing him again, leaving one hand on the seat to keep himself steady and fondling Dean's balls with the other. He loved Dean like this, shaking with the effort of trying to focus on the road and drive (and yes, Sam trusted him not to get them killed, because that would kind of ruin the mood), making all kinds of wonderful noises as Sam slurped at him noisily.

He continued to bob his head up and down on Dean's shaft, the fingers tightening in his hair until it was actually painful, but even that was good too. Sam ran his teeth up the underside of Dean's dick for that, careful not to be too rough, but Dean liked a bit of pain with it too, and his reaction didn't disappoint.

"Sam – fuck!" He gasped out, the car swerving abruptly, almost knocking Sam off the seat and forcing him to disengage so that he wouldn't hurt Dean by accident. A second later he could feel the vibration of gravel under the tires, the Impala skidding to a stop before he'd even managed to sit back up.

Dean jerked the gearshift into 'park', eyes dark with lust when he turned and growled, "Backseat. Now."

Sam just grinned, palming himself through his jeans languidly, relishing the frustration in Dean's expression as he shimmied out of them ever so slowly, pretending like he was a stripper for a moment or two. His own dick was standing stiff at attention, and even though Dean muttered a half-hearted "I hate you," it seemed more like wistful adoration than anything else in his tone.

That earned Dean a teasing wink before Sam scrambled over the seat, daring Dean to follow him and re-christen the Impala right. He looked back to see Dean popping a cassette into the tape player, grinning like an idiot. Before he could ask his brother the very obvious question of 'what the fuck?' the static beat of a familiar song started up.

"You've got to be kidding me." Sam told him, rolling his eyes. Only Dean. "You do realize no one has gotten laid with this song since the 90's right?" Dean crossed his arms, tugging his shirt off to reveal his muscular chest, which might have distracted Sam from his musical criticism a bit. Okay, so maybe he was a bit past caring that his stupid brother wanted to fuck him to 'Closer' by Nine Inch Nails. If that got his ass in the backseat already, then by all means. And the bastard knew it too.

"Then we'd better change that," Dean taunted, "gotta pop my car's cherry to decent music at least." You'd think that last bit should have been obvious to anyone the way he said it, Sam thought. He'd honestly stopped trying to question the bizarre relationship Dean had for his car, honestly fearing that he might wind up a third wheel (Or, well, a fifth – sixth?) or that he'd start getting creepy threesome vibes every time they wound up fucking in the car. Yeah, definitely better to leave that one alone.

"You let me violate you," Dean sang along, fishing the lube out off the glove compartment and tossing it back to Sam, who would have been laughing his ass off at his brother if he hadn't been so goddamn horny. "You let me desecrate you…"

"Dean, if you don't get your ass back here in the next second, I'm rubbing one out on your upholstery." Sam warned him, giving Dean his best bitchface.

"Okay, okay, god – I'm coming!"

"Already?" Sam teased, laughing, as Dean climbed over the seat awkwardly to land on top of him.

"Shut up." Dean wasn't amused.

"Make me," Sam challenged, and Dean wrestled him down onto the seat, which honestly was much too easy for him since he was already on the top, and due to the limited space in the car Sam was kind of stuck anyway. Still, that meant putting his hands all over Sam, which had been the plan in the first place.

"Is it just me," Sam asked a second later, his head at an uncomfortable angle with the door and still barely enough room for Dean down between his bent legs, "or is the back seat a lot smaller than it used to be?"

"It'd be fine if you'd stop growing," Dean protested, elbowing Sam's knee out of his way even as he slicked up his fingers. Sam normally would have made a smart comment back, but Dean chose that moment to slip a finger in him, and Sam's brain might have short-circuited at that point. He rocked back onto it, and Dean smacked him. "Fuck, sit still," He snapped, readjusting his precarious position, "if I fall off this seat you're dead, you hear me?"

Sam chuckled, making a big show of trying to get his legs around Dean (so he wouldn't fall off the seat… yeah, right.) "Think you're good and stuck bro," He assured Dean, "now come on, get a move on" He was so wound up just from sucking Dean off in the front and two month's worth of not-nearly-satisfying-enough mental images. Sure, preparation was important and all that, but really now: Sam wanted Dean's dick in him like, yesterday already.

Dean mumbled something that sounded an awful lot like 'pushy bottom' which Sam might have to get him for later, depending on the sex, of course. Still, he complied, inserting another finger and starting to scissor them, stretching out the mild burn that accompanied. "Mmm," Sam moaned, really doing his best not to fuck himself onto Dean's fingers because there really wasn't enough room in the car for that kind of thing. As it was, his neck was going to be hurting something awful in about a minute.

Holding still was not an easy thing to do, especially not with Dean doing all kinds of wonderful things with his fingers up Sam's ass, still looking all hot and sweaty from between his legs. And was that a bit of engine grease on his jaw? Mmm, it was. One of these days Sam was going to have to go down on him while he was working on a car.

"I don't even want to know what that look means," Dean assured him, leaning over to nip at Sam's collarbone, and Sam took that as an opportunity to grab him and pull him closer, using his advantage to steal the spot of grease from Dean's face. "Freak," Dean teased, lining himself up finally, and Sam didn't even bother to reply, one hand dropping to grab onto the edge of the seat as Dean pushed in.

Nothing could possibly detract from that feeling, Dean stuffing him full, rocking back and forth slightly to get a rhythm started. Not the slight burn to it (which really only made it better in Sam's opinion), not the awkward angles or the cramped backseat. At least, that was until Dean started singing along. "I wanna fuck you like an animal," he enthused along with the song, and that was where Sam drew the line.

"So help me god Dean," He groaned, doing his best to sound like he meant it. Quite a feat, considering. So of course Dean laughed, thrusting in harder, and Sam lost what he was saying in an embarrassingly loud moan. He'd just have to get Dean back later. Yeah, later, when Dean didn't have his hand pumping up and down Sam's dick in time to his thrusts, wearing that sexy grin of his like he knew how good he was making Sam feel and wasn't he just so proud of himself.

Dean's thumb glided up over his slit, and Sam shuddered automatically, doing his best to hold still despite the fact that he was thisclose. His balls were tight, and he knew it wouldn't be long before he was cumming – luckily Dean seemed to be in the same situation, his thrusts a lot less steady than they'd been a minute ago, falling out of tempo with the damn song as it was ending.

One last twist of Dean's wrist and Sam was gone, back arching as he came in thick spurts all over his chest and Dean's hand. And Dean wasn't far behind. His hips stilled as he came inside Sam, groaning and throwing his head back with ecstasy (And Sam couldn't help laughing when he'd gotten his breath back, because Dean had definitely just hit the back of his head on the window, even though he'd totally deny it later).

"Yuck," Dean teased, just to get back at him, trying to wipe the cum all over his hand off on Sam's arm, so that Sam had to threaten to knock him onto the floor if that was at all physically possible. Yeah, just another day in the life. "Bitch," Dean complained, and for that, it was his shirt Sam used to wipe the cum off of his stomach.

"Jerk," He replied easily, tossing the shirt back to Dean with a smirk.

"Oh come on," His brother complained, making a face before simply tossing the shirt on the floor. He fumbled with the door handle, trying to untangle himself from Sam's long legs with little success. "I hate you."

"Love you too bro," Sam assured him, and that's when the song finally changed – 'Cherry Pie' by Warrant coming on. "Seriously?" He groaned, "This is your sex tape, isn't it?" Dean at least had the good graces to look guilty. "Oh my god Dean, you lame ass," Sam chuckled; reaching up over the seat to grab his jeans and tugging them back on.

He was well fucked (finally!), if everything went according to plan there would be a lot more fucking in the near future( – hopefully without the porn-rock hits), and had something to make fun of Dean for, for the next few minutes at least… life was good.


End file.
